The Sphere of Time

by TIME, S. O.

  Hana swallows hard and then smiles. It only looks slightly forced. “Now, please, join me in the banquet hall to celebrate. We have risen from the devastation to create a beautiful and unified society. Please, enjoy the celebration!”

  Some of the guests cheer, and the mass of people begin moving toward the banquet hall. Kou and Hitori make their way down, exchanging pleasantries with whoever approaches them. They eventually reach the massive hall that takes up over half of the north wing. The vast room is lit by colossal pentagonal chandeliers that carry circular bezels on the corners, each holding a different condenser crystal—red, green, blue, white, and purple. All around the ceiling are additional assorted lights in obtuse and intricate triangular designs. Beautifully set tables of different sizes fill much of the room, and guests sit where they please. Toward the west side of the hall, a musical ensemble begins playing—a wide area around them is vacant of tables to allow for dancing. More than a few of the guests head straight toward the music. Some of them pair up, while other groups of four or eight engage in more choreographed dances. Still others simply move on their own.

  Isao and Hana glide over to a table set against the far wall, slightly separated from the rest of the guests by a modest distance and slightly raised dais. They join two men and a woman who all have patches with the image of a planet on their formal attire.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to sit with them?” Hitori asks, gesturing at the raised table. Kou nods his head. “Not with him there. We’re supposed to show everyone how happy we all are. I’d hate to blow our cover by sitting next to him.”

  “Well then how about we actually have some fun?” She takes Kou’s hand and starts swaying to the music.

  “Please tell me you’re not about to ask me to—”

  “Yup! Too late!”

  Hitori cuts him off and drags him to the dance floor. At first Kou hesitates to move, but Hitori keeps dancing around him until he gives in—he shakes his head, sighs, and finally dances along. The guests around them watch and cheer them on. For a moment, even Hana and her table stop to watch them dance. Isao’s scowl is ever present, but Hana’s delighted expression and her effervescent energy eclipse it. Everyone’s energy feels so lively and warm, soothing whatever sorrows they may have felt during Hana’s speech.

  #

  After a few dances, Hitori and Kou whisper into each other’s ears and walk to the eastern set of stairs. Several lounge chairs are scattered around the upper level of the hall. Some face the western wall, which is made out of a clear material that allows a view of the mountainside. Other chairs are gathered around short tables where guests can set their drinks down and converse. The lights up here are dimmer than the ones downstairs, providing a calmer atmosphere. There is also a small bar where several guests are gathered.

  Hitori and Kou avoid both the chairs and the bar, heading directly behind all of that to one of the balconies. Below them are the flowers in Hana’s garden, glowing with all kinds of colors that ripple in time with the music. The melodies are pleasantly audible from where they stand thanks to the acoustics of this hall.

  I drift toward them, but as I watch, they both hold each other close and dance at a much slower pace. It’s then that I realize how out of place I am. It’s like the energy in the room suddenly wants me out, like I’m intruding in a matter I have absolutely no business with. I am Death. I have no place in love. I felt it a bit when I first saw Kou kiss Hitori, but I didn’t think much of it then.

  Now...when I see these two together I feel an uneasy tug on my chest. I back away with deliberate caution, as if they might somehow notice my trespass. I see Kou whisper something in her ear, but I don’t bother to try and make out what it is.

  That’s between them, and them alone.

  Chapter Six

  I wander downstairs and try to keep my mind off of Kou and Hitori. What right do I have to be here? Why should I be able to force myself into their lives and watch everything that they do? Afflicted by these questions, I float around until I find myself at Hana's table. They aren't discussing anything interesting, but I notice the lab worker that interrupted Hana’s conversation with Kou rushes toward her once more. Without regard to the other guests, she blurts out her message.

  “Dr. Kurosawa, something's wrong with project 27-A.”

  Hana’s energy skyrockets into a jagged anxiety, but she maintains a calm expression as she rises to her feet. She turns and bows before the guests at the table. Even to Isao.

  “I apologize, venerated Council members, Commander Matsuo, if you would please excuse me, I have urgent business to attend to.”

  The council members’ energies also spike along with Hana’s. “Oh, of course, please don’t worry. We know how important your work is,” one of the men says.

  “Yes, go. We’ll be here upon your return,” adds the woman.

  “Thank you.” Hana bows again and rushes off with the lab worker.

  “She’s such a marvelous woman,” Isao says.

  The two male members of the Council exchange a glance while the woman gives Isao a flat look.

  “How about you save us the trouble and get to the point, Mr. Matsuo.”

  “My, Councilor Pele, all I did was compliment an amazing scientist. Surely there’s no harm in that.” Isao smiles, but the expression doesn’t reach his eyes.

  “You have an awfully terrible habit of starting conversations like this, Isao. They always end with you requesting permission to do something foolish with your research behind Dr. Kurosawa’s back,” the man next to Councilor Pele adds.

  “Not you, too, Mishal,” Isao exclaims, affecting a wounded look.

  “That’s Councilor Mishal to you,” he replies, glaring at Isao.

  Isao lets out a deep sigh and his expression becomes more serious. “Listen, I hate these talks as much as you do, but you need to listen to me.”

  “Oh, here we go,” Counselor Pele rolls her eyes.

  “Please, get on with it. Let’s end this as quickly as possible,” the man to the left of Counselor Pele says, breaking his silence. Isao grins.

  “I knew I could count on you, Raza.”

  The man he calls Raza exhales deeply through his nose before speaking. “I’m merely trying to end this before any blood spills.”

  “As I was saying,” Isao continues, “our scientists have developed a way to make condensers more efficient. We have prototype projects ready for trials.”

  Pele sits forward in her chair. “Is that right?”

  Raza and Mishal exchange worried glances.

  “I’d like permission for controlled human trials.”

  “Wouldn’t you like to wait for Dr. Kurosawa’s return to talk about your progress?” Mishal asks.

  “Listen, elections are coming up. Imagine how the people would react to finding out that the next generation of condensers were approved and released by your administration.”

  Raza says nothing but sits up and leans forward a bit. Mishal slouches back on his chair, bouncing his leg up and down impatiently.

  “And imagine how people would react to us approving trials on faulty designs,” Pele says.

  “Do you have so little faith in me that you think I would jeopardize everyone’s safety?”

  “I believe you’re the kind of man that is willing to cut corners to complete your agenda. Do you have schematics for these new condensers?”

  “Counselor Pele, what we’re working on builds on the existing platform. By simply injecting—”

  “Injecting? You mean a serum?” Pele cuts Isao off. “Your ‘prototype’ is a serum?”

  Isao places his hands on the table and the expression on his face hardens. “It has the potential to increase current condenser conversion rates while greatly reducing the fatigue they have on the body. Energy output would increase dramatically!”

  Raza crosses his arms and speaks, “Well, doesn’t this sound familiar.”

  “Dr. Kurosawa and her team have thoroughly proven that cu
rrent condensers will become unstable if we exceed their output any further without making significant design changes to the transferral apparatus,” Pele says as she shakes her head. “That’s why she’s working on new condensers instead of ‘upgrading’ the current model. Your serum would have the same—or worse—deleterious effects that Dr. Kurosawa found during her earlier experiments in advancing their energy output.”

  Isao scowls but quickly attempts to smile and regain his composure. Behind his stiffening features his energy roils.

  “I respect Dr. Kurosawa’s expertise, but she is being too cautious here. Given the potential for another invasion, these trials are a necess—”

  “Enough,” Pele snaps, though not loud enough for any of the guests to hear. “This is just another attempt at getting us to approve your proposal from last year. We rejected it for a reason, and that reason hasn’t changed. We have already gone against our beliefs by allowing you to continue your program for Special Condenser Operations.”

  Raza clenches his fists. “No more weapons,” he says, raising his voice. “We are all grateful for your contributions to keeping our Branch of Humanity safe from the nymians, but the war ended. We must not revert to being the kind of destructive humans we were before the Divide.”

  Mishal nods. “Every project you propose has only served to further weaponize the peaceful environment we’ve worked so hard to create. We don’t need superhumans anymore.”

  Isao grits his teeth and his energy skyrockets, veins becoming visible on his temple. “Don’t be foolish—can’t you see the danger you’re putting these people in? We could be attacked at any moment and we have little to save us!”

  “We have improved our shields greatly since the attack. We’re far better prepared now than we ever were during the war, and we won, as you may recall,” Pele replies sharply.

  “Because of me!” Isao retorts. “We won because of my leadership and skill.”

  Pele shakes her head. “I vote against your motion. No more weapons.”

  “I also reject your motion,” Mishal says.

  “As do I,” Raza adds bluntly.

  Isao gets up and leans forward before the Council members. “You’re all making a mistake. You’re dooming us all.” He straightens, pushing away from the table with a bit too much force. “Please, enjoy the rest of the party,” he says with a sneer before turning his back to them and walking away. I watch Isao as he leaves and wonder how terrible the war must have been that he’s become so paranoid about another invasion.

  Pele sighs deeply and sits back in her seat as Mishal tuts nervously. After a few seconds of awkward silence Raza makes a joking remark about someone I don’t know and they begin to converse about lighter topics. With my mind still occupied by Isao’s outburst, I drift away from their chatter.

  After making my way outside, I step off the floor and begin to rise. I ascend slowly and soon have a stunning view of the Kurosawa mansion, lit up with colorful lanterns and bathed in starlight. The cheerful sounds of music and conversation rise up to me as I take a seat on the roof and turn my eyes toward the moon. I close my eyes to daydream about the life I might have had, the people I might have known, and the friendships I may have treasured.

  I wonder if I were ever in love, if my partner ever joked with me as Hitori jokes with Kou.

  “Relaxing on the job?” a voice asks, forcing me back to reality.

  The voice is far too clear to have come from the party below. My heart is still racing, and I feel myself sweating. I jump to my feet and turn toward the voice.

  A woman with pale grey eyes and long black hair floats above the roof. She wears a grey tunic and loose overcoat, similar in style to the current fashion, but with wide slits in the sleeves and laces instead of buttons. Her left hand is adorned with a simple silver ring that catches the moonlight—it is her only jewelry. She is undeniably beautiful—but as I stare at her face I notice something odd. Lines, thin and black, spiderweb out from her hairline. They tease at the edges of her eyes, and reach up from her neck toward her slightly smiling mouth.

  I know instantly who she is.

  Death.

  She smiles dryly at my mute shock and gently lowers herself until her feet touch the roof.

  “Don’t worry. I’m not a ghost.”

  I laugh nervously. “Right...”

  “You may call me Naomi.”

  She stares at me for a moment, her gaze moving around my face without ever managing to reach my eyes.

  “It’s getting worse,” she says, almost to herself. “But we’ll fix it. I will fix it,” she adds hurriedly. She looks pained, her forehead wrinkled slightly.

  “What’s getting worse?” I ask hesitantly.

  “Your mask. Every time you come back it grows. It’s over half of your face now,” she says gently.

  My hands fly to my face. Mask? Was I ever wearing a mask? My fingers run over a rough material that covers most of the right side of my face, encroaching over my nose and the left side of my chin as well. I feel suddenly alienated from my own form—how had I never noticed this before? It never appeared on any of my reflections, regardless of how blurry they were. I try to scratch at the strange carapace, but it holds fast.

  When I refocus on Death she is turning the silver ring around her finger, staring up into the darkness. I catch a glimpse of the letters ‘NM’ inscribed on it. As I recover from my shock, the full content of her comment comes back to my mind.

  “What do you mean, ‘every time’ I come back?” I ask.

  “You’ve travelled here before, to this time and place. Seven times now,” she replies, looking back at me.

  “Seven? How—how is that possible?”

  “Time is stubborn. You are stubborn. After the way things ended during your first return, I thought you’d stay in your own time, but you keep coming back. No matter what we do, things always end with the same event.” Her voice is heavy, tired. “I don’t even know how such a massive time jump is possible.”

  She glides closer and raises a hand to my face, her fingertips brushing the mask. She’s near enough now that I can see the black lines on her face more clearly. Against her pale skin, they look like the cracks in a porcelain doll. She finally meets my eyes as her arm drops back to her side.

  “But this will be the last time.”

  I’m not sure if her words are a promise or a threat.

  “What—what do I do? What happens when I come back?” I ask.

  “I tell you what I know. And then, the same thing happens—the same event, the same destruction. Though a different kind of destruction came this time. Do you remember that black hole and the white dot of light? I had to create a new timeline because you did something that upset spacetime—the universe.”

  I take a breath, struggling to keep my thoughts ordered. “A timeline? What is that? I-I never meant to travel back in time. I didn’t even know it was possible. But we can work together. This time can be differe—”

  “No.”

  “...What?”

  “No. We’ve tried that and failed. Miserably. Things won’t be like before. I will not tell you the future. I will handle this time...differently.”

  I purse my lips, torn between hope and frustration.

  “But—If I could simply learn—”

  “I realize this is difficult for you—I know you came back to look for answers. In time they’ll come.”

  I’m scared and discouraged by her secrecy, but I believe her words are genuine.

  “Is that white dot of light related to my returns?”

  “Close. New timelines are like returns to the past, except they’re more advanced—I create a tangent universe. It gives humanity a chance to thrive in a new possibility—a timeline. The destruction that happened doesn’t go away, but this gives humanity another try to fix the mistake that caused its extinction. It takes most of my energy, though. I’m weaker than ever now.”

  “If you make new universes, does it also make new versions
of you?”

  As soon as I ask the question, her expression makes me wish I hadn’t. A shadow crosses her face, but she answers.

  “The version of me in a given timeline remains. I’m the latest ‘version’ of Naomi. Since we can manipulate spacetime, our minds can…stretch. You would know this if you had ever created a new timeline yourself,” she explains. “My mind is attached to each of my selves in the other timelines. A memory link, as I like to call them. With each new timeline, I gain another set of memories.” Her gaze drifts back toward the sky, haunted. “It’s…crowded,” she murmurs, almost to herself.

  My eyes widen as guilt twists in my stomach. It’s my fault. My continued returns have added this weight to her mind, forcing her to make new timelines, piling the memories higher with each new cycle.

  As if anticipating my next question, she turns back to me. “You don’t remember the timelines as I do, because you aren’t Death in this time. You don’t exist here. Or rather, you’re not supposed to. Your being here is…an anomaly.”

  I flinch slightly. I don’t believe she meant to be unkind, but the words still feel like a slap. How can that possibly be? How can I not exist during this time and only remember souls from this time? Seeing my expression she places a gentle hand on my shoulder.

  “I promise I will fix this,” she says softly. “Every new timeline I get weaker, both physically and mentally. I don’t have the energy to go on anymore. This is my last chance, and I won’t waste it. It ends here, no matter how much you may hate me by the end of it.”

  “What? Why would—”

  The world wavers and spins for a brief moment, causing me to stagger like one of the drunken partygoers. I regain my composure and look back to Death to finish my question.

  She’s gone.

  Chapter Seven

  I n the days following the festivities, clouds have begun gathering—the sun struggling to peek through.

  Again, I find myself wondering what type of person I was when I had my memories. Will I lose the ‘me’ that I am now when I get them back? Since coming here, I’ve been eager to restore them, but now that I think about it—now that I’ve talked to the Death of this timeline—I am less certain.